The Sea, The Sea
by Jane Connor
Summary: The ocean had always attracted Nathan. The seawater. The sea was ever-changing, incomprehensible, delusive. Slash, Nathan/Duke. This is the translation of my fic "Море, море". Kindly translated by nisa from LJ. Unbetaed.


The ocean had always attracted Nathan. The seawater. The sea was ever-changing, incomprehensible, delusive. It could be a gentle and reliable friend, and then suddenly betray one in a wink of an eye, trap and never let go. There, in the dark depth that knew no light, cold currents were desperately trying to get to the surface and fight for a place under the sun.

That night icy, almost winter wind blew from the ocean, and nearly the entire western pier was covered with rime. Nathan was standing at the berth, inhaling salt and frosty air, plunged in a strange semi-dream. The sky had darkened, lights of fishermen's boats flickered here and there, and windows lit on in the houses one by one. Nathan looked around, stood still for a while trying to find lights of the lighthouse, shivered, likely because of a sudden gust of wind, and folded his arms on his chest. All day long an inexplicable fury consumed him like fire. Or maybe it was an ordinary anger. He felt an urge to throw coffee-cups, coffeepots, papers, tables and other things. He had even snapped at poor Audrey a couple of times – first she got offended, then rolled eyes and smacked him on the side of his head. This was rather sensible (a lovely wordplay indeed) and Nathan quickly came to his senses and apologized.

But as soon as he stepped out on the shore pebbles and inhaled the salty wind never subsiding for a moment, the whole thoroughly-constructed wall of his inner calm burst in cracks. _Cracks__inside__and__cracks__outside_, Nathan shook his head. The most curious part of it was that the origin of his mental cracks was as unknown as the one of the real cracks living a life of their own in the streets of Haven.

Nathan remembered the last few days – all those mind-blowing horrors about the woman who was a local version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, her poor children and Duke dying before Nathan's eyes. Nathan clenched his fists and his teeth to fight down a scream. How many stupid, irresponsible, insolent and senseless things Duke had done over the last days! It boggled Nathan's mind! Not only had Duke completely forgotten to use his brain, but he had also nearly kicked the bucket. The pitiful idiot!

Nathan realized that he wanted to find him and whack him in the face immediately, so that would not make things like ever again. After everything – the hospital, the conversation with Audrey – he wanted to go to _The Grey Seagull_ but remained at the threshold, perplexed, and all words of anger and blame froze in his throat when he saw Duke, perfectly healthy and a little pensive.

Nathan did not know where to go or what to say, it was then that his anger appeared, making him want to throw coffeepots.

The thought that there was a connection between Duke and the ever-burning anger came unexpectedly and washed over him like a wave of tide, and Nathan helplessly unclenched his fists. Nails left distinct marks on his palms – he had tried to tear them up. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what the fuck!

Nathan was standing not far from the shore; he made a few wide steps down to the black oily waves, bent down and put his hands under water. He clearly needed to sort things out about his anger, Duke and himself. He knew that he needed it. But he was clueless as to how to do it.

oooOOOooo

Duke's boat was murky and from the distance reminded of the _Flying Dutchman_ coming out of grey waves. _Just a mind-clouding vision_, puffed Nathan getting closer. There was no light at the boat, even the lantern was out. For some reason Nathan was sure that Duke would be alone. He would not be able to tell exactly why he thought so, he did not believe in undercurrents or deep nature of Duke Crocker, but still Duke had to have feelings, he could sense fear and pain. And after all that had happened to him, almost against his will, he would not feel like socializing with anyone. Though in Duke's case, everything ran off him like water oft a duck's back. It occurred to Nathan that he and Duke were quite the opposites in that – he himself felt everything intensely, as if for the first time. Maybe because he had no tactile perception at all.

Musing like that, Nathan came up the stairs to the deck and looked around in confusion. He had no idea what to do next. He had come to Duke's boat because he wanted to understand why he was so angry at Duke. Angrier than usual, that is. Nathan thought of himself as of a psycho stalker hanging around in dark lanes and sniffing out information on innocent people. His own stupidity and insolence struck him. Duke, of course, was no angel, and had constant problems with law, but he had just gone through a couple of unpleasant days and the face of his accursed friend was something he could do without pretty well. Nathan shook his head – something was definitely wrong with him tonight – and ashamedly turned back to the deck stairs.

"Detective! What do I own your visit to?" a slightly sleepy voice came from behind his back. The irony in it was undisguised. Nathan cursed quietly and turned around trying his best to preserve the remains of dignity. He looked at Duke, his crumpled T-shirt, unshaven cheeks and hair in complete disorder and his heart missed a beat. All he could manage was quite a miserable greeting.

Duke scratched at his unshaven face, blinked, switched on a lantern at the deck panel, and Nathan felt his all-too-piercing stare.

"So I don't get it – why do you intrude on private property without invitation, Wuornos?" There was not a hint of threat in Duke's voice, but Nathan bristled up, and all the rage that he deemed already gone rose up again.

"I am trying to figure out what's on your mind. You are good at getting into all kinds of shit, aren't you, Duke?" His fists clenched again involuntarily, and it took him almost an inhuman effort to unclench them. Of course, he felt no pain and was secretly thankful for that – there would be nothing pleasant about that.

Duke rolled his eyes just as Nathan had expected. Nathan's midnight ramblings and pathetic speeches left him mildly unimpressed.

"Oh yes, you are so devoted to your profession, detective, I really don't know what to do!" Duke looked like he was going to throw up his hands in a pathetic gesture but contained himself. "God knows what is happening in the town, crazy ugly women are turning into beautiful and mad girls, your friends start suddenly to spoil food by the will of their minds, and Nathan Wuornous, the golden boy, Haven's mind, honor and consciousness, is spying on a man who has done no wrong!" Duke thought a little. "At least, in the last two weeks."

This time it was easy for Nathan to think of a suitable reply:

"That's why I want to make sure you've got no nonsense on your mind for future."

Their verbal duels were like fisherman's old boots – comfortable and reliable. The same arguments were repeated over and over again and everyone stuck to his own. This time Duke fulfilled only a part of his usual program – he gave Nathan no time to recover and waved his hand with an exhausted shrug of shoulders.

"In future I will think of something less costly and, how shall I put it, less deathly. So you have nothing to worry about, Nathe. And I advise you to know better than to hang around someone's boat without a warrant. Good night," Duke looked straight into his eyes, and Nathan could not look away, as if hypnotized. And then Duke turned round and disappeared behind the door leaving Nathan on the deck even more confused and angrier than before.

The wind from the ever-changing sea did not subside for a moment.

oooOOOooo

Nathan was not really ashamed that much. Duke indeed was a smuggler so a check-up would never be out of place. But something else kept bothering him, something at the brink of his consciousness that he needed to admit but pushed away instead. He took a shower after having tuned the expensive thermal system on an appropriate water temperature, and cursed his tactile disability yet again. He wanted so much to sense water streaming down his skin, to feel anyone's or at least his own touch… Nathan closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the tiles. He had to go to bed, forget about the last days, learn not to follow people he had been hating since his childhood and stay calm. Nathan smiled. Calm seemed something entirely out of his reach.

The sleep brought incoherent, icy and enigmatic semi-nightmares about the sea. From time to time Nathan found himself on the shore looking at the distance where dawn was breaking over green and grey waves, and then the icy wind rose again covering the pebbles, stones and sand on the shore with white ashes. And then he sensed someone's hands on his hips, someone's lips on his neck, someone's breath on his face, making him feel a mixture of tenderness, anger and horror combined in strange proportions, and awoke, breathing heavily. Pitch-dark night was behind the window; it seemed to Nathan that howling of the wind had become even louder, and he thought that he had to fasten shutters of the kitchen window because they were tapping again. He moved to a sitting position with difficulty, rested his feet against the floor and pressed his face into his palms. He felt confused and embarrassed by the dream – everything was too vivid, too desperate and powerful. For years he had not seen dreams where he could feel again. It was so weird to be alive and real again, at least in a dream. He shook his head to clear his mind and suddenly heard a knocking coming from the kitchen again. All of his remaining senses strained, panic immediately replaced by caution. Nathan grabbed his gun from the bed stand and started silently creeping to the kitchen, barefooted. He tried not to imagine who or what it could be. He had had already enough to be nervous about.

There was no one at the kitchen but suddenly he glimpsed an elongated face through the glass - it looked like a blurred photograph. His breath caught. He cautiously approached the window trying to see better the indistinct figure behind the black veil of night.

Then someone pressed the door bell with all his strength and Nathan almost jumped out of his skin.

"Nathe, I know you're there, open the door!" came the familiar voice. It looked like catching him off-guard had become Duke's favorite pastime. Nathan cursed again and reluctantly dragged himself to the door making a mental note that he would have preferred any worthless werewolf only to avoid dealing with Duke in the dead of night.

Nathan flung the door open, and a gust of wind made his T-shirt cling tightly to his body. Duke was standing at the door dressed in a white shirt and trousers unfit to the current weather as always. His face looked strained and tired.

"It's past 1 p.m., what have you forgotten here?" snapped Nathan instead of a hello remembering how Duke managed to frighten him only a few minutes ago.

Duke stood very straight but there were dark circles beneath his eyes and his stare was haunted. That weird feeling from his dream rose within Nathan. It was tenderness, anger, and something else, something incomprehensible that scared him because it made him rise his hand and brush it against Duke's lips.

"I… I don't know why I came," shrugged Duke. "We aren't even friends."

Nathan gazed at him blankly, that feeling from his dream urging him to reach out and hold Duke against him even though their last meeting had ended up in an ugly quarrel that still filled him with an inexplicable rage. Instead of that, Nathan shrugged his shoulders. They were two idiots, without any doubt…

"You got scared to sit at your rusty garbage-can and you ran here to my place for a bed-time story?" He snorted almost convincingly. Duke rolled his eyes and grinned widely.

"Sure, there are only ghosts and Ctulhu in that sea." He paused, and Nathan tried not to take his eyes of his face – eyes, lips and chin. "I wanted to go to the _Seagull_, but my window overlooks the lighthouse. And there at the lighthouse… Well, you've got it. So I am cowardly asking for your professional assistance, I will owe you an eternal debt, and so forth, and so on."

"You've lost the last of your sense, Crocker," blurted Nathan without any anger.

Suddenly almost everything came clear. The sea had played a bad trick on him again – the icy wind had made him think that he was angry and unable to feel anything, while in reality Nathan had been scared to death. Both he and Duke had been scared. They were afraid of the same thing that obviously was driving them crazy. Duke had faced his death, and Nathan – what a fool he'd been! – his life without Duke, that is why he had gotten so mad at Duke and not at the death. Nathan realized that he was shaking, shaking for real, in a hysterical and feverish way.

He stepped aside letting Duke in the corridor. Duke passed too close to him and it seemed to Nathan that he could feel the heat of his body. His shaking became even stronger. It could not be seen in the dark of the corridor, but somehow Duke sensed his state and peered intensely into the darkness.

"I… have to find a blanket for you," growled Nathan and tried to go round him.

"What's wrong, Nathe? We've been on edge for three days. We behave like two idiots. This is not like us at all. Well, maybe it is like you…" The joke did not sound funny, but suddenly Nathan burst out laughing and heard Duke's booming laughter in the dark.

"We both got scared, things like than happen. I don't think our macho images will suffer from that. If you don't tell anyone about the girlish pillow-party that we're having." Nathan definitely decided to change the subject and to forget completely that only ten minutes ago he wanted to kiss Duke Crocker. Fuck, he had really wanted that. What the heck!

"You got scared? I thought you were mad at me because I upset Audrey and slept with that woman. I really don't get you, Wuornos." Duke's tone was mocking. Something helpless and hopeless rose in Nathan's chest.

"If all that is fun for you, why did you come here? You are afraid of the lighthouse? Of the lighthouse _only_? And I was afraid that you could die, you, son of a bitch!" A silence followed, and Nathan realized that his last phrase was a scream and that his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. Then he felt a sudden pressure on his lips and got the general impression that someone – Duke – pressed him to himself with both his arms.

"You're a blockhead, an idiot, it took you so long to figure out!" He heard that Duke's voice was trembling and, with a look at his own hands, carefully embraced him back, nuzzling first his neck and then pressing his insensitive lips to his collarbone. Duke smelled of tart cologne, fresh air and the sea.


End file.
